Wild Temptation: Wilder Irish, #5

By Mari Carr

She's tied up at work…by her boss.

The last thing Lochlan wanted in a new assistant was some inexperienced, gorgeous, submissive blonde. However, a promise to a friend ensures that's exactly what he's stuck with.

May knows she's out of her league, not only in her new job, but with her boss. He makes her want things she's never considered—kinky, sensual, wicked things.

When trouble at home shows Lochlan more about her life than she wants him to see, there's no stopping the sexy protector suddenly determined to claim not only her body, but her heart as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mari Carr
• Release date: Sep 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950870042

Book preview

prologue

Patrick Collins rocked his infant grandson, humming softly as the tiny baby slept. Of course, he was using the word tiny loosely.

Patrick Lochlan Wallace had been nearly twelve pounds when he was born and, even now, at the ripe old age of three months, the chunky monkey gave no impression of slowing down when it came to growing big and strong.

Lochlan was his second namesake grandson, something that Patrick still shook his head over, though it secretly delighted him. Keira had given her brother, Tris, holy hell when he’d named one of his twin boys Padraig last year, insisting she’d always said her son would be named after him.

Patrick had intervened, telling them he was very touched by their tributes, then gently suggesting Keira use Patrick as a middle name instead. His oldest daughter had enough of her mother’s stubbornness in her to use it as a first name anyway, even though the strapping baby in his arms had been called Lochlan since day one.

He ran the backs of his fingers over his grandson’s rosy cheek. You are a bonny lad, son, he murmured.

Keira claimed Lochlan was the perfect baby, sleeping through the night and rarely crying. A welcome change, she said, compared to his older sister, Caitlyn, who, at three years of age, had declared herself too old for naps and proved that it wasn’t merely the twos that were terrible. Keira was currently with her daughter at a playmate’s birthday party at the park, and her husband, Will, was attempting to fix some faulty plumbing at their home.

Which meant Patrick had his wee grandson to himself for a few hours.

After showing him off in the pub for a half hour or so, the two of them had come up to his apartment above to relax in Sunday’s beloved rocking chair. Patrick could close his eyes and recall her sitting here with every single one of their children, rocking them as she sang them the lullaby she’d selected just for them.

Patrick had never asked Sunday how she’d decided on the songs, assuming at the time, she had just selected favorites from the radio. He regretted not asking that question now as he rocked his grandson. Sunday had loved music, all kinds, so her lullabies were pulled from every style, country, pop, folk, even movie soundtracks. What song would she have sung to wee Lochlan?

Patrick was more of a traditionalist. His singing range was limited to just a few confident notes, and his lullaby of choice had always been Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral. It was simple and reminded him of Ireland.

Patrick had already sung it to Lochlan twice, the sweet babe smiling at him as he did so. You’re a generous audience, he murmured, wiping a bit of drool away from Lochlan’s mouth.

Lochlan reached out and grabbed his finger.

"Och, that’s a strong grip. You’re going to be a powerhouse someday, aren’t you, my beautiful boy. Maybe you’ll grow up and play professional football or hockey. Wouldn’t that be something?"

Lochlan tried to direct Patrick’s finger toward his mouth. He suspected the baby was teething, even though Keira insisted it was too early, claiming Caitlyn hadn’t gotten her teeth until nearly eight months old.

Having just gone through all the baby days with Caitlyn, Keira was more confident as a mother this time around, thinking everything with Lochlan would be similar to Caitlyn. Patrick didn’t have the heart to tell her every baby was different.

You, my hungry boy, are getting those teeth out quick. You’ll be eating steak by the week’s end. He laughed at his own joke, a sound Lochlan repeated.

Such a jolly lad. You hold on to that humor, Lochlan. It will serve you well. As will that name of yours. It’s one the Vikings gave their own sons. They were powerful men as well.

He continued to rock, allowing Lochlan to suck on the tip of his index finger. When the baby bore down with his gums, Patrick chuckled, his suspicions confirmed as he felt the very beginnings of a tooth.

Clever boy, he whispered. You know, loch is actually the Scottish word for lake, and Lochlan means land of the lakes. I didn’t mention that to your mum because she knows how I feel about the bloody Scots. Patrick winced. He’d been trying to clean up his language now that the pub and this apartment was filling up with the next generation of children. Don’t tell your mum I said bloody, eh?

Lochlan wrapped a second hand around his finger, his grip tighter, firmer, determined to keep Patrick’s finger in his mouth.

I suspect it’s the second meaning of your name that will stick, because it also means warrior. And that’s the part I want you to remember, that’s the name I pray you’ll grow into. Because this world needs warriors, sweet Lochlan. I don’t mean the overthrowing kind, the kind who push weaker people out of their way. You can be a warrior for right, a champion, the type of person who protects those who need your help, who steps forward and does the right thing, even when it’s difficult.

Patrick knew it was silly to sit here having this conversation with a baby who couldn’t understand him, but it didn’t matter. These were the things he wanted to say to his grandson, and he wasn’t getting any younger. Sunday’s untimely death by cancer when she was in her fifties had taught him a valuable lesson. Say what you have to say today because there might not be a tomorrow.

Besides, Patrick couldn’t dismiss the way Lochlan was looking at him, his dark-eyed gaze locked on his face. Patrick could almost swear the baby was listening, that he did understand.

You’re a smart boy, Lochlan, so I’ll tell you the rest of my secrets, everything I’ve learned in six-plus decades. Hard work never killed a man, but you have to balance that with play. I suspect your sister and those wild twin cousins, Colm and Paddy, will help you there.

Patrick continued to whisper lesson after lesson to the baby. Your last name may be Wallace, but there’s Collins’ blood running through those veins too. Don’t hold that part of you back. Follow your heart, embrace your passions, fall in love so hard it leaves bruises. I’m still sporting a few I got when I gave my heart to your grandma, Sunday. Patrick smiled as he said her name, and Lochlan followed suit, with a full-gums, chubby-cheeked grin.

One last thing, he murmured softly. Always remember that family comes first. It’s the most important thing, because ultimately, it’s the thing you’re working so hard for. I spent long hours in that pub downstairs because I wanted my family to be provided for, to have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. I was blessed because I loved the job, but I never forgot that, while it was my passion, it wasn’t my heart. Sunday and your mom and your aunts and uncles were. My wish for you is that you find a girl like my Sunday, and have a slew of crazy, wonderful kids.

Lochlan’s eyes started to close, the soft rocking and quiet whispers lulling him to sleep.

You’ll be their warrior, Lochlan. And they’ll be your heart.

one

I can’t believe you’re deserting me, Lochlan grumbled, his chest tight, his stomach aching.

Sally merely rolled her eyes—as she’d done all morning—and grinned. I’m not deserting you. I’m retiring.

Same difference, he muttered.

Maybe to a young buck like you, but for an old woman who’s worked her ass off the past forty years, I’d say this retirement-slash-desertion is long overdue.

Lochlan chuckled, though it came out sounding miserable.

Sally Walters, his personal assistant for the past eight years, was the picture of prim and proper. It was rare to hear her raise her voice or use a cross tone, and even rarer to hear her curse.

You said ass, he teased, seeking a way to lighten his mood.

She lightly slapped him on the arm. You’re a scamp. And I’ll miss you, Lochlan Wallace. But I promise, I’m leaving you in good hands.

Ah yes. The replacement.

Lochlan had started his own company, AdLoch, right out of college with loans from his father and Pop Pop. Looking back now, he figured it was love, more than common sense, that had convinced the two most important men in his life to risk a fairly substantial amount of money on the dreams and schemes of a twenty-one-year-old boy. However, that love was a two-way street, and it ensured Lochlan worked night and day for years to not only pay them back—with interest—but to prove to them their faith hadn’t been misplaced.

When he was twenty-six, AdLoch had been featured in Forbes as one of the top five tech startups in the country. Business had soared since then, and he made his first million just a few days after his twenty-seventh birthday.

Now, at thirty-one, he’d crossed that million mark a few dozen times more, and his company had expanded beyond the borders of the United States. He’d spent the last month in London, opening his first international office.

Unfortunately, the timing on that new venture hadn’t been great. Sally had told him three months earlier she was retiring this month—today, actually.

But she’d made that threat every year for the last few, and he’d always convinced her to stay—typically with a big-ass raise. He had honestly thought he’d find a way to talk her out of leaving this time, just as he had in the past.

Sally was more valuable to him than his right arm, something he told her on a daily basis. When he had announced their London trip, secretly thinking it would convince her to postpone her retirement, she’d dug in her heels, telling him in no uncertain terms she was getting too old to keep up with him. She’d held firm on the end date and he’d ventured to London alone, while Sally had remained behind to hire and train her replacement.

She’d sent him several resumes early on, but Lochlan had a stubborn streak a mile wide. So wide, he continued to insist that she would change her mind. Sally persevered, however, and told him if he wouldn’t choose her replacement, she would.

And—dammit—she had.

May Flowers. She’d actually hired him a PA named May Flowers.

That was as much as Lochlan knew about the woman. Given her old-fashioned name, he assumed Sally understood his preference for an older assistant, someone like her, who was efficient, no-nonsense, a straight-shooter with no family ties to prevent her from being able to keep up with him.

He’d hired Sally, his first employee, one year after launching AdLoch. She had been aged-out at her previous job a couple months before responding to his ad for an administrative assistant. She’d told him point-blank in the interview that she was the best candidate he was going to talk to for the job because of her experience, her intelligence, and her work ethic. He had interviewed four other candidates, and Sally had been right. She’d had it all over her competitors, so he’d hired her. And hadn’t regretted the decision for one second.

He trusted Sally enough to know she would have searched for those same standards in her replacement, but that still didn’t mean he wanted someone else. He didn’t have the time or the patience to start over.

He glanced at his watch, grumpy about Sally’s departure. His London trip had been extended a week longer than he’d expected, which had him arriving back at the office today, on Sally’s last day.

She’s late.

Sally snickered. I told her to come in at ten. Wanted to have you to myself for an hour to catch you up to speed on what’s been happening here during your absence.

They’d already used up forty-five minutes as Sally went through everything that had happened on this side of the ocean during his time away. He now employed over fifty people, and while the buck still stopped with him, there were a lot of tasks he’d entrusted to Sally.

Those tasks would now fall to May…if she could handle them.

Once again, Lochlan felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He honestly wasn’t sure he could do this without Sally, and he hated the idea of starting over with someone new.

This is going to be a disaster. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact Sally was really leaving.

No, it’s not. May is wonderful. She’s a smart woman with enough backbone to stand up to you when needed. She won’t let you run roughshod over her. That’s what you need. Someone to tell you when you’re being an idiot, the same way I have the past eight years.

He gave her a mischievous grin. I’m never an idiot.

That comment produced her biggest eye roll of the morning. Of course you are. May’s been working as a personal assistant for a junior partner in a tech firm the past couple of years. She understands this business and she’s a quick learner. I’ve been extremely impressed with her the last two weeks. She’s bright—a thinker with a genuine thirst to learn. Plus, she’s a darn hard worker, willing to put in overtime when needed. Last night, the two of us were here until nearly seven so that we could finish covering everything she needed to know. You’ll be very pleased.

The door in the outer office opened before Lochlan could reply.

That’ll be her. Sally studied his face. Put the scowl away and smile, Lochlan.

It took some effort, but Lochlan managed a weak grin.

The look faded the second May Flowers appeared in the doorway to his office.

What have you done? he whispered, his words only loud enough for Sally to hear.

Sally had been smiling at May, but her attention turned to him, her forehead creased in concern. What?

If May Flowers was twenty-five years old, Lochlan would eat his desk. She was a petite, willowy blonde who looked as sunny as her name sounded. She wasn’t old at all. She was young and beautiful and… He searched for the word that described her best. When he figured it out, it pissed him off even more.

She looked vulnerable.

He was an asshole on a good day, barking orders like a drill sergeant. There was no way this woman could handle that…handle him.

He looked at Sally in disbelief. This is a joke.

This time he didn’t whisper, his words carrying to May, who’d only taken a few steps into the room before she stopped, her confused gaze traveling from Sally to Lochlan then back to Sally.

Sally’s eyes narrowed at his rudeness.

Lochlan tried to get a grip. Jesus. He needed a do-over on the whole morning. He’d woken up pissed about Sally’s last day, and his attitude had only gotten worse with each passing minute.

Regardless, there was no way on earth Sally thought May was a suitable replacement. The woman was…

How old are you? The curt question flew from his lips before he could think better of it.

I sent you her file, Sally replied through clenched teeth.

At the same time May answered, I’m twenty-three. I’ll be twenty-four in a month.

Lochlan looked at Sally in genuine disbelief.

Since when does a person’s age matter to you, Lochlan? As you know, I was in my late fifties when you hired me. Sally’s tone sounded sweet to a novice, but he knew her too well. Knew she